


Fruitful Partnerships

by Starlinghue



Category: The Alienist (TV)
Genre: Fake/Pretend Relationship, Flirting, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Past Relationship(s), Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Canon, Unresolved Emotional Tension, mostly arguing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 08:45:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,376
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Starlinghue/pseuds/Starlinghue
Summary: One night at the Opera, during those long, anxious months following the investigation, Laszlo turned discreetly in his seat, whispering to John through one of the more tedious performances. “Have you made use of that ring I gave you?”Or, more accurately: The one where John proposes to Sara, but inevitably ends up in Laszlo's bed.





	Fruitful Partnerships

Two months had passed since they had closed the investigation, and still, John’s sleep was troubled. While he knew that the murders had stopped, and those poor boys out on the street were at least spared of such monstrosities along with the rest of their suffering, he still could not shake all the horrors he had seen. There was something akin to terror that had settled deep within him, and it served as a hurdle which he could not surpass in order to close his eyes at night. In his dreams, he saw blood, bodies, and eyeballs in a jar. He tried desperately to push these memories from his mind, but they clung on with a vengeance. Though he was no longer riddled with fear, he still could not find it within himself to relax.

True to his word, he did not turn to drinking, which may have been the easiest solution for this kind of insomnia. Instead, John found a coping mechanism in his illustrative work, or the occasional cigarette. Because the summer was thick with heat, he spent much of his free time during the afternoon sitting in his parlour with the windows open, feeling the sun on his skin and trying to focus on little else.

Even with the investigation over, he found himself frequently wandering towards Laszlo’s side of the city during his evening walks. In this particular indulgence, he was not the only one who could be found guilty— more than once he had crossed paths with the Isaacson brothers, exchanging pleasant nods with the pair from across the street, a quiet sense of understanding passing between them. Sara, too, had passed by in a cab on one notable occasion, and John remembered the smile she had aimed at him rather fondly.

Laszlo still invited John to attend the Opera on occasion, as he had done quite frequently before the sudden onslaught of detective work they had faced. There was something almost nostalgic about going together now, for so much had changed. Their brushes with death and some of the other obscenities aside, John could not help regarding Laszlo a little differently, after everything. His friend had found love and lost it before he had any time to understand what it meant to him, and John had seen the wound, open and clear as day. Laszlo had not been so vulnerable with him since they were undergraduates at Harvard, and even then there had been a wall between them, a great labyrinth that John would have to solve before he could understand anything about Laszlo at all.

There was a lot they had not spoken of, then and now. The things that remained unsaid seemed to be rising closer and closer to the surface now, after the trauma they had both endured.

One night at the Opera, during those long, anxious months following the investigation, Laszlo turned discreetly in his seat, whispering to John through one of the more tedious performances. “Have you made use of that ring I gave you?”

The question caught John so off guard that he turned to look at Laszlo with a start, failing to judge the distance between them. Their noses nearly brushed, as Laszlo had moved so dangerously close that John could feel his breath against his face. When their eyes met, John was startled by the gentle, imploring fondness in his friend’s gaze. 

“The opportunity has yet to present itself,” John replied quietly, leaning backwards so that there was enough space between them that would allow him to breathe. “But I have already made my proposal, albeit bereft of any jewels. As it stands, I believe Sara is quite determined to make the decision on her own terms.”

Laszlo nodded then, his eyes drifting back towards the performance. John watched his expression with unabashed interest, trying to see under the careful mask the great Dr Kreizler wore. He found himself smiling.

“You must be well aware that she will want to know everything. She will needle me with questions, and I will answer each of them truthfully, and without shame.” John said after a pause, and he could feel his own conviction as he made this confession.

“How curious. Would really tell her of every stranger who has kept you company in the last several years?” Laszlo asks, his eyes swimming with a cruel amusement that he seemed to get directly out of embarrassing John. But his low blow had been expected, and the smile that John wore did not waver.

“I will tell her of everyone, if she asks, before and after the period of my disastrous engagement.” John spoke carefully, ignoring the show altogether and giving Laszlo his undivided attention. Their eyes met again, and this time, there was something downright challenging about the way Laszlo looked at him.

“You would inform her of every drunken tryst? How unbecoming of a gentleman of your caliber.” Laszlo’s voice was tight with sarcasm, and he, too, ignored the stage entirely, turning in his seat ever so slightly so that he was on the cusp of invading John’s personal space yet again.

John tried to swallow his laughter, and he crossed his arms in front of him as the smallest form of defence. “If she asks, I see no reason to leave my past buried behind me. I think there is something valuable in sharing the mistakes of one’s youth.” 

That had done it, John thought with a smirk as Laszlo’s eyes narrowed, and his cheeks flushed a light pink. It was such a rarity to find him embarrassed that John drank the moment in as if it were the alcohol he so gravely missed, leaning back in his seat and relishing his moment of victory.

They did not speak throughout the rest of the performance, John gloating quietly and Laszlo no doubt trying to think of a way of extracting conversational vengeance. When the show was finished, they walked out of the theatre side by side, their shoulders knocking together a little too roughly to be considered amicable. John lit a cigarette as Laszlo hailed a cab, and he waited for a response to his taunt.

It came in the form of Laszlo’s grip, firm and a little violent on John’s left elbow. He was careful to make it look as though he were only pulling him towards the cab, but John could feel the intent of the gesture, of the way Laszlo was making sure John remembered who was in control.

“If you are going to indulge Ms Howard in the matters of our shared past, I would prefer to be kept well informed.” Laszlo hissed in John’s ear, sending a sharp shiver straight down his spine. “It’s not only your integrity you’re sacrificing, after all.”

“If you're asking me to lie for you, Laszlo, then get it over with.” John replied airily, but he knew that he had slipped up, had put a little too much emphasis in his words. _I would lie for you._ This sentiment, like many of the unspoken things between them, was easy enough to understand.

Laszlo visibly relaxed, releasing John from his grasp just as the cab pulled up in front of them. He stood back, allowing John to climb in first. They sat directly across from one and other, and though it was cramped, the fact that their knees were touching was no matter of circumstance. John waited, once again, to see what he would do.

“There is no reason for you to be dishonest with her,” Laszlo spoke almost cautiously as the cab began moving, and John was grateful for his hesitance. “Something tells me that she may be more inclined to these kinds of things than one may think.”

Feeling his jaw go slack at that remark, John couldn't help spluttering. “Wh— Whatever are you implying?”

“Just that her reluctance to accept your proposal may have been due to a more personal inclination rather than a carefully constructed matter of flirtation.” Laszlo replied loftily, and the gears turning in John’s brain came to a grinding halt.

“You can be downright cruel, you know.” He whispered, glaring at Laszlo without any real animosity. “Are you honestly capable of regarding your own feelings without bullying those around you in the process?”

“Are you?” Laszlo countered, suddenly quite serious. There was something about his friend's cool, calculative expression that made John shudder, in spite of himself. 

Their knees brushed again, not accidentally. It was hard to say who had initiated the contact.

 

\--

 

About five days later, Sara joined John and his grandmother for tea. He enjoyed her presence there, in his house, in his life. She felt like a warm, welcoming flame, and he was a moth that would find himself flying inevitably into her. Once they had satisfied his grandmother's expectedly curt conversation, John offered Sara his arm and the two of them set out for a stroll around the garden. There, they were far enough from his grandmother's prying ears that they could speak more freely.

She spoke of her police work, mostly, and the pride she took in it. Eventually, this did bring the two of them back to the subject of Dr Kreizler, and John found himself strangely welcoming his friend’s unseen presence in their courtship, if whatever they were doing could even be called such.

Thinking back on Laszlo’s remarks on Sara’s interests, it was impossible for John not to ask. He did try to be subtle, simply inquiring if she longed for the company of another woman at the police station who was not a servant, but Sara fixed him with such a piercing look that he felt himself becoming unraveled.

“Have you any desire for the fairer sex?” John asked bluntly, feeling himself blush.

“What brought about such an unusual question?” Sara asked in turn, avoiding a response. John did not miss the way her eyes glittered with an unfamiliar emotion.

“Laszlo,” John answered, and that was all the explanation Sara seemed to need. “He took a rather hazardous guess the other night, I think he was rather insistent on teasing me.”

“That’s very like him.” Sara said peaceably, but John could see the tension in her stance. He understood, suddenly, that Laszlo had probably not been far off the mark.

“Damn him,” John sighed, and he leaned down and kissed Sara’s cheek in a sudden swell of emotion. When he pulled away, she looked rather perplexed. “I do have the most regrettable timing, don't I?”

“I’m afraid that timing was never of the essence in this particular equation, John.” Sara smiled up at him almost apologetically, and then she reached around their linked arms so that she could press his hand in her own. She was confirming his suspicions. Realizing this, his shoulders sagged, and he let out a thoughtful sigh.

Ridiculous as it may have seemed, John had indeed felt something for her, and he still very much did, but perhaps Sara had been a little too honest when telling him he only wanted what he could not have.

“Marrying me might be a perfectly suitable option for you, then. I enjoy your company above all else, and you cannot deny that I understand your tastes.” John made the suggestion with a bemused smile, but he came about it honestly. He very much wanted to marry her, regardless of if she would ever share a bed with him or not.

Sara rolled her eyes at the suggestion, however, and tightened her grip on him. “I would not want to cause you any pain.”

“How could you ever do that?” John asked, quietly, and she looked up at him again, appearing as if she might cry.

“You're far too kind, John, considering I could never be capable of loving you to the extent that I ought to be.”

Her words stung, but not in a way that was painful. John understood them. He understood them far too well.

“I had a failed engagement, you know.” John murmured, “Everyone has always suspected that I was the one who was left with the broken heart once it was called off. “

“Weren't you?” Sara asked, tilting her head inquisitively.

Taking a moment to admire the flowers in their summer bloom, John thought, inexplicably of Laszlo, and of his damnable smile that never quite reached his eyes.

“In a sense, yes. But I was more than partly to blame for the failure of our partnership.”

Sara was watching him as carefully as he had seen her watch Laszlo in the past, trying to decipher the code he had given her. John took pity, deciding he would rarely have the opportunity to spell things out so bluntly ever again.

“That night, in Paresis Hall… Well, afterwards, when Stevie found me in the alleyway without my trousers… That was unfortunate, and without my consent, but it was not my first time in such a compromising position.” He explained this all at great length, his cheeks going crimson and pale all at once. He refused to look anywhere but straight ahead.

“John,” Sara’s voice was hushed, but she sounded rather alarmed. “Are you of a similar predilection as I am?”

“I curry the favour of both men and women, if that is what you mean to ask.” John answered curtly, and it felt strangely liberating to have finally said as much out loud. “And before you swiftly pass judgment on me, I felt nothing but pity for those boys who were victims. No child should be exposed to such horror. When given the option of my own choice, I have only indulged myself these more scandalous desires of mine on only one notable occasion, and that was with a fully realized adult.”

“Only once?” Sara asked, thankfully ignoring John’s terse defense of how his tastes had never been so horribly perverted during their investigation. “When did you ever have the opportunity to do so? A man of your stature would have been noticed at a brothel that catered to our kinds of tastes.”

John liked how she said _our._ It was as if they finally understood each other. “Thankfully, I did not have to resort to that kind of establishment. The opportunity simply presented itself to me in my younger days.”

“How lucky,” Sara said dubiously, “I don't suppose you’d be inclined to share any of the details?”

John thought of Laszlo, of the hissing threat in his ear. He laughed, giving into the irony of it all. “If I disclose any such information with you, my dear, I'm afraid you would be putting me in a position of extreme emotional peril.”

This only seemed to intrigue Sara more, as John thought it might, and with great effort to seem reluctant, he allowed her to guide him over to the garden bench, forcefully pulling him down to sit with her. If his grandmother was watching from the house she would no doubt find this move a bit precocious, though John thought it was rather endearing.

“Please tell me everything.” Sara whispered, leaning close to him as though they were having a rather enamored conversation. John admired her ability to be able to instantly tilt the situation to be in her favour.

“I was attending University at the time.” John said slowly, waiting for the other shoe to drop. “We weren't classmates, but we had mutual friends, and came to know each other through them. We often went out drinking, or we studied leisurely together.”

The pieces came together in Sara’s mind all at once and she let out a small, shrill gasp. John smiled, pleased that it had been so much more amusing to allow her to reach the conclusion on her own. “You must be teasing me, John. Surely you do not mean to imply that you and Dr Kreizler...?”

“I don't mean to imply anything. It happened. He told me not to lie to you when I asked for your hand in marriage.” John said, simply, enjoying how flustered Sara became by this information. It distracted him from his own feelings, which were quite a mess at the moment.

“Then you slept with him?” Sara said this so uncouthly that John could feel the wind getting knocked out of his lungs. “For how long?”

“It was only one night,” John spluttered, trying to regain some composure. “We were both drunk, and considerably so. It happened three or four times over the course of the evening, and the following morning, we did not speak of it.”

“Have you spoken of it since?” Sara was beginning to understand, how pained John was just from admitting this. She looked at him with something akin to sadness her face, and he shied away from it.

“No, we have not.” John admitted this through gritted teeth, “Though a great deal of things remain unsaid between us.”

“I can imagine so.” Sara murmured, seeming both compassionate and morbidly fascinated with John’s current (and longtime running) dilemma.

With a sudden sense of purpose, John began to dig through his pockets. “He gave me this at dinner, Kreizler, after we solved the Beecham case.”

When he pulled out the small, velvet box containing Mary’s ring, John suddenly felt guilty, as if perhaps he wasn't meant to share this with anyone. It was a preposterous thought, as Laszlo had gifted it to him with the explicit instruction to give it away, but somehow this secret felt more intimate than the drunken fumblings of their youth. Still, he handed the box to Sara, and she opened it rather tentatively.

“Oh,” she murmured, “It's a lovely jewel.”

“It was meant for Mary.” John felt a deep pang of sadness, mourning for the poor girl. “I suspect he went out and bought it the morning after he realized his feelings for her, right before we went and absconded to Washington.”

“And he gave it to you instead.” Sara said, eyeing John carefully. “I suppose he intended for me to be the actual recipient.”

“Lovely as it is, I don't think the band would fit any of my fingers.” John chuckled, and then he flushed because the thought had occurred to him before, wearing Laszlo’s ring. He hadn't been able to bring himself to do it, but he had entertained the idea, twirling the box around his fingers late at night.

“Alright,” Sara nodded, “Then I suppose you'll have to have an answer for him soon.”

“Excuse me?” John blinked, watching her slide the ring on her finger with a sense of purpose. “Are you accepting my proposal?”

“I am not so naive to think that I should go about my days without ever marrying.” Sara said, smiling kindly at him. “It’s expected of me, and if I am to advance in society I must occasionally do what is expected. You would be a most suitable partner, considering our— what is it that you would put it as?”

“Similar tastes?” John suggested, albeit a bit baffled.

“Exactly,” Sara’s grin was positively wolfish. “And I think you and I both know that I am not the one you truly desire.”

“Oh,” John said rather dumbly, and he could feel all the blood in his veins rising to his cheeks. “Surely you don't mean—”

“John,” Sara cut him off, “Don't try and deny it. You would gladly walk through Hell for the man. In fact, I should say that you already have. And though he may not be as obvious about it, I am certain that he would do the same for you, ten times over.”

“I— I don't know what to say. Are you sure that this is what you want? You would be happy, being married to a man with divided attention?”

“It would be an arrangement that suited us both.” Sara patted John’s knee fondly, “After all, my attention tends to be rather divided as well.”

They stared at each other for a long time, and John thought that it was only proper to kiss her, then. Sara remained still against him, as she had the first time their lips had touched, and now John knew it was more than modesty that had been holding her back.

“I am still very much in love with you, you know.” He told her, and he could not tell if he was joking or being serious. Perhaps she had been more aware of his true feelings from the beginning.

This time, Sara reached up and patted his cheek, a friendly gesture that might have been interpreted as romantic without the context of their agreement looming over their heads.

“I shall be happy to be your wife.” Sara said this earnestly, and John nodded, brushing their foreheads together. “At the very least, I shall be happy to be yours in some sense.”

“And I shall be happy to be your husband.” John said, taking her hand from his cheek and kissing it. “In some sense.”

They smiled at each other, and despite the nerves he held for what was to come, John was happy that she had agreed to marry him. Laszlo’s ring looked very becoming on her.

 

\--

 

_“You are always drawing in that little notebook of yours, yet you refuse to show anyone its contents. How do you expect to ever get paid for your work?”_

_John was splayed rather haphazardly across Laszlo’s small, leather sofa. He was holding the notebook in question closed against his chest, embarrassed that Laszlo had expressed any curiosity towards it to begin with._

_“I will show the work I get paid for, obviously These drawings are personal.” John retorted, his words slurring. They had just spent a rather fruitful evening crawling from pub to pub, starting with a rather large group of sophomores and having then dwindled down to just the two of them. John was quite drunk, Laszlo, most irritatingly, was only slightly wobbly. They had retreated to the latter’s cramped apartment to spare John of yet another social scandal._

_“Even more reason to let me see them, it would be quite a unique look at your thought process.” Laszlo said in a matter of fact tone, his accent growing a bit heavier due to his inebriated state._

_John pouted at him, “You will not look at my drawings.”_

_“Why not? What is it that you're trying to hide?” Laszlo asked, standing over him with an open fascination. Goddamn psychology students._

_“There you go again, trying to dissect me.” John scoffed, “You would love nothing more than to pin me down like an insect under a microscope. Well, I will not allow it!”_

_“Is that what you think I want?” Laszlo laughed, a rare and wonderful sound. “To pin you down?”_

_The innocuous phrasing made John swallow a little harder than necessary, and of course Laszlo noticed this, of course he did._

_“Um,” John said, trying to hide his rising blush, gripping the notebook tightly in his hands. Laszlo slowly crouched down so they were or a level height, his brown eyes narrowing perceptively. He leaned so close that John closed his own eyes in abrupt panic, and suddenly the notebook was being snatched away._

_“Wait!” John spluttered, reaching out in protest, but it was too late. Laszlo had opened the book and began flipping through its pages with a wide grin._

_“You draw a great deal of birds,” he observed, “And flowers.”_

_“Laszlo—” John yelped, sitting up and reaching helplessly for the notebook. “Please, don't look!”_

_“This is of great likeness.” Laszlo said, smiling as he turned the page to face John. It was one of the many pages full of drawings John had made of Lazlo, his appearance often disheveled or tired as they were usually drawn when he was drunk or studying. Laszlo was looking at the sketches with great interest._

_John flushed deeply, “Give it back.”_

_“I'm in here a lot,” Laszlo hummed, flipping through several more pages. “Am I perhaps your muse?”_

_“You’re such a prick!” John spat, and feeling rather humiliated, he made a valiant attempt to leap to his feet. It was a poorly executed plan, as he came quickly tumbling down onto Laszlo’s cheap, stale carpet. As if he could not possibly be any more mortified, he had landed directly at Laszlo’s feet._

_Undeterred, Laszlo continued to stare at the drawings. “You seem to have and odd fascination with my eyes.”_

_“Shut up!” John hissed, and in a desperate move, he lunged at Laszlo’s legs and brought him toppling down on top of him, the notebook landing somewhere above their heads._

_“I did not realize you would be so offended by this.” Laszlo huffed, blinking his dizziness away. He and John were pressed together around their stomachs, and their faces had become awfully close somehow. His breath smelled of wine and fruit._

_“You're completely inept,” John muttered, but despite everything, he found himself grinning. “And it seems you do have me pinned down, after all.”_

_“Yes, and I've given you a lovely view of my eyes.” Laszlo said pointedly, and when John reached up to shove him, he instead found his hands settling around Laszlo’s waist._

_Their breathing hitched in unison. It was hard to tell who moved first, after that, but somehow buttons were wrestled with, shirts came rolling off, and John’s moans of anticipation filled the room like gunfire._

_Laszlo didn't kiss him. John didn't expect him to. They bit and scratched at each other with all the modesty of wild animals, and it was positively thrilling. With another man, John felt as though nothing would be too rude, too informal. It didn't occur to him until he saw Laszlo’s flushed, startled expression that this may have been his first time._

_“Shall I treat you more gently?” John asked, his voice disoriented and heavy. His question was met with a scoff of annoyance._

_“No,” Laszlo said, firmly. “And I don't intend to do the same.”_

_With that declaration hanging between them, it soon became evident that neither of them had any intention of stopping this even if they had wanted to._

 

\--

 

The first person John and Sara formally announced their engagement to was John’s grandmother, who took the news delightedly. The second person, naturally, was Laszlo.

It was all very discreet, at first, with Sara arranging for the three of them to meet at Laszlo’s house for lunch, which may have been deemed a rather bold move had it been executed by anyone else. The first hour of their visit was filled with friendly conversation, ranging from politics, literature, and each of their respective professions. John caught himself admiring Sara’s ability to control her environment once again, and it wasn't until they had been served tea and were just beginning to settle into an agreeable silence when she decided to get right to the heart of the matter.

“I'm sure you've noticed my ring,” Sara said, hiding a sly smile behind her teacup. “I can only assume that you've guessed that John and I are engaged.”

Laszlo’s hand stilled ever so slightly as he took a sip from his own cup. He inclined his head politely, and then beamed at them both. “You’re right, I did notice, but I wanted to hear it from you officially before leaping to any conclusions. Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Laszlo.” John said, smiling kindly at him. When he then glanced towards Sara, she graced him with an almost patronizing look in return.

“Yes, we finally reached an agreement that would be beneficial for all parties involved.” Sara said this with a kind of calculated nonchalance, gazing at Laszlo as if she were daring him to retaliate. “A successful marriage, after all, is built on a foundation of trust. John has been painfully honest with me, and I with him.”

At this remark, Laszlo turned to look at John with an arched brow, and John had to resist the urge to sink lower in his seat.

“There is such a thing as knowing too much, you know. Shouldn't you keep some of the mystery alive before the wedding?” Laszlo asked, and Sara very nearly laughed.

“Oh, to hear you of all people saying such things is a bit amusing, considering you make a habit of knowing everything about everyone, if you can.”

Laszlo looked as if he were about to argue, but before he could, Sara was suddenly standing up and dusting off her skirt. “I'm sorry to have to leave you gentlemen so early in meal, but I am expected at work. It’s been lovely catching up with you, Dr Kreizler. We’ll have to have dinner sometime soon.”

“Yes, to celebrate.” Laszlo said, beaming once again. “Until next time, Ms Howard.”

“Until next time.” Sara echoed, and then to really drive the needle in, she put her hand on John’s shoulder and kissed his cheek quickly and swiftly before leaving the room. This had all been one continuous movement, and it had gone so smoothly that John could have sworn that she must have practiced it. When he met Laszlo’s eyes across the table, it could have been his imagination, but John caught his nostrils flaring, just a little.

With Sara gone, the atmosphere of the room instantly changed, and John felt as if Laszlo was regarding him like a strange and foreign object. Eventually, he could not take the crushing silence, and he sighed a bit dramatically.

“She knows about Harvard, if that's what you were going to ask.”

“It wasn't,” Laszlo clicked his tongue, “I was more curious as to why she was suddenly so interested in accepting your proposal after months of dawdling on it.”

“Maybe it was the ring?” John teased, and when Laszlo frowned at him, he sighed and shook his head. “Maybe she was simply more attracted to me because now she knows that I've lied with men.”

“Men,” Laszlo was the one echoing, this time. “Why the plural?”

“Because it was not a singular experience.” John said, suddenly feeling very annoyed and ashamed. “That night Stevie found me lacking trousers and a billfold, you must have guessed that I was assaulted in more ways than one.”

Laszlo’s eyes widened, and John immediately regretted saying anything because clearly Laszlo _hadn't_ guessed.

“I’m sorry,” John mumbled, “That was unfair of me, it's not like I told you the truth when you asked me, afterwards. I could hardly remember it, anyway.”

“No, it wasn't unfair of you at all, John. I should have known.” Laszlo looked very tense, and he continued to clench and unclench his fingers on top of his placemat. “I'm the one who should be apologizing. You suffered a great deal because of me.”

John thought of Mary’s funeral, and the lonely, guilt-ridden figure that Laszlo had cut in the rain. “Oh, honestly, I don't blame you even remotely for what happened! You certainly shouldn't blame yourself.”

“I'm afraid that I have to bear at least some level of responsibility.” Laszlo murmured, “If you did blame me, for any of this, it would certainly be warranted.”

“Laszlo…” John started, but he could not find the words to complete his sentence. Instead, he got to his feet and crossed the room so that he was standing at his friend’s side of the table, and just as Sara had done, he placed a hand on Laszlo's shoulder, firm and reassuring.

“How silly this is,” Laszlo smiled up at John almost timidly, “Here you are comforting me when you're the victim.”

“I'm hardly a victim. I'm in one piece, and I'm rather happily engaged.”

“But you can't sleep soundly.” Laszlo said this in a quiet, accusatory tone. “None of of us can. And that's all my doing.”

“That's Beecham’s doing,” John corrected him, “You must stop being so hard on yourself, Laszlo. Can't you accept that I wouldn't resent you for anything?”

Seconds after the words left his mouth, John knew that he had, once again, said too much. Laszlo’s eyes gleamed with something bright and knowing, and John was very careful when he pulled his hand away from him. However, he had not moved quickly enough, and suddenly Laszlo was pushing his chair backwards and standing inches away from John’s face, their gazes locked in a hard, heavy stare.

“You would so willingly forgive me for any trespass?” Laszlo asked, his voice nearly a whisper, and it was all John had in him not to gasp aloud at the inherent lewdness of it all. He took a cautious step backwards, but Laszlo followed him, persisting. “You would not resent me even if I were to do something so scandalous as to even break the sanctity of your happy engagement?”

“You wouldn't touch Sara,” John said, egging Laszlo along, daring him to respond. He had nearly backed himself up against the wall, and still, Laszlo was there, closing in on him.

“If she were so willing, I would not discourage her company in my bed.” Laszlo shrugged, and John could see the cold assessment in his eyes, waiting for a reaction. The way he tensed made John think that he expected to be hit. Perhaps that was what he wanted.

“I’m afraid,” John said, slowly, dragging the moment out for as long as possible. “That would not be as likely as you may think. Even if Sara and I weren't engaged, I doubt that you would interest her as anything more than a friend and colleague.”

“And why’s that?” Laszlo asked, his lips twitching into a smirk, knowing he was taking the bait, and enjoying it.

“You’re lacking a few key components that she desires most in a suitor.” 

“Such as?”

“Breasts, for one. Or, shall we say, two?”

Laszlo’s eyes glittered rather victoriously for a moment, and then he laughed, as quiet and as gentle as a bird’s wings. John watched him with shameless interest, and it was as though his chest had burst into flames, warmth filling him from head to toe.

“Then I presume that you're marrying her for convenience's sake?” Laszlo asked, with laughter still dancing in his voice.

John relaxed against the wall, leaning his head back and staring up at the ceiling. “I'm marrying her because I have grown quite fond of her, and I don't think another woman could please me as intellectually and as charmingly as she can.”

“So you are not in love with her?”

When John looked back to Laszlo’s face, there was an inexplicable earnestness in his expression. He looked, all of a sudden, as if he were quite young.

“I think I’m really in love with the thought of her; an intelligent, hard working woman on my arm. It’s the thought of her that I'm marrying, after all.” As John confessed this, he felt himself acknowledging it as the truth. He had known all along, deep down, that Sara had always been out of his reach.

“And you're satisfied marrying a woman who will never love you in that way?” Laszlo murmured, “You would give your heart to her to have her toss you aside?”

Steeling himself, John stood up straight, allowing the few inches of height he had over Laszlo to give him some control. “I think that I've been in love with someone else for a long time, anyway. The truth is, I could never have offered Sara my heart in the first place.”

“After all this time, you still long for Julia?” Laszlo frowned, “But I thought—”

“I don't think that I ever loved Julia much, either.” John watched Laszlo’s jaw drop, just a fraction, and he relished the small moment of triumph. “Tell me, Laszlo, why do you think that I seek only the company of women who I know for a fact will never be attainable?”

“Well, I suspect it's because—” Laszlo began, but John interrupted him before he could say anything more.

“You once asked me why I never left you, even when you were at your most incorrigible, and putting me through a great deal of strain. Do you remember?”

“Of course I remember,” Laszlo blinked, “You were buttoning my boots.”

“Indeed I was.” John smirked, and this time, he was the one leaning in, though Laszlo made no move to step away. “I believe that I left you rather out of sorts that day, and I never had a chance to give you a proper answer.”

“John,” Laszlo whispered, and again, he looked quite young. He was inexperienced when it came to matters of the heart; it seemed that the two of them had this much in common.

“Would you like to know why, Laszlo?” John asked, gently moving forward. Their noses were nearly touching, as they had been that night at the Opera. They were always _nearly_ touching, in some way. It was never quite enough.

“I believe that I already know what it is that you're going to say.” Laszlo murmured, and his gaze flickered briefly to John’s lips before tracing its way back up his face.

“Would you like me to say it anyway?” John asked, raising his hands so that one could find Laszlo’s lapel, and the other the back of his neck.

“I wouldn't be opposed to that.” Laszlo said, quietly imploring him. It was all the invitation John needed to finally close the distance between them, and he found himself leaning down and kissing Laszlo with a passionate sense of conviction.

It was different than kissing a woman, but only because Laszlo’s beard scratched against his cheek in a way that was not entirely unpleasant. His lips were soft and chapped all at once, and he moved almost shyly against John, as if he did not know quite what to do. John allowed himself to adjust to Laszlo’s pace, opening his mouth so that Laszlo could be the first to swipe their tongues together. Once he did, Laszlo seemed to suddenly ignite, and just as it had been that night in their youth, a sense of near animosity rose between them. Laszlo’s good hand reached for John’s hip and he all but shoved him against the wall. When John grunted in response, Laszlo moaned into it and kissed him harder, his fingers digging into Jon's shirt. He soon brought his knee snaking up between John’s thighs, and it was all a little overwhelming. John soon found himself struggling to remain upright, leaning back against the wall for support, his lips parting from Laszlo’s with hot, fast pants.

For a moment they simply stared at each other, faces flushed and eyes wide.

“Come upstairs,” Laszlo suggested, “If you wish to continue this, then we’re going to have to take certain precautions.”

“Obviously,” John’s breathing was ragged, and his kissed Laszlo’s forehead without thinking. His friend seemed rather startled by this gesture, and it brought a genuine smile to John’s face to see him so delightfully flustered.

They made their way upstairs together, Laszlo leading the way, and John trailing after him, admiring him from behind. It was strange, being able to suddenly indulge in things he had been repressing for so long. He wondered if Laszlo felt as elated as he did, and he supposed that he must have, with the way he kept furtively looking over his shoulder to see if John was still there. It were as though he were expecting him to suddenly disappear at any moment, and John could not blame him for it.

Once they were safely locked away in Laszlo’s suite, John bypassed his opportunity to look around, instead focusing on getting his arms around Laszlo’s waist. Laszlo was half grinning by when their lips met again, and he wasted no time in guiding John towards his bed.

When they had done this as students, they had barely removed any of their clothes, getting each other off with only their hands and mouths. These attempts were clumsy and awkward, albeit satisfying. John had no idea what they were about to embark on now, with the very evident expectation that one of them was going to take the other.

“What would you have me do?” John asked, because really, he would do anything that Laszlo wanted. While he waited for a response, he took a seat on the edge of the bed, taking hold of Laszlo’s hand that hung limply at his side, and kissing each of its knuckles, all while staring up at him devotedly.

“A former patient once expressed to me that in terms of sexual fulfillment, one tends the crave the opposite of what one already possesses.” Laszlo spoke in almost an undertone, “Perhaps, given the power dynamic between us, you should be the one expressing the most dominance here.”

“Is that what you want?” John asked, sensing Laszlo’s hesitance. “Just because you haven't been as active as I am, it doesn't mean that I should be the one to take the lead.”

“What do you normally do when you seek the company of prostitutes?” Laszlo asked, taking John off guard.

“Occasionally I would pretend that we had just been married, and I was about to have the woman as my wife for the first time.” John confessed, and because he saw no point in lying, he added, “Other times I would pretend that I was with another man, and would ask for the lady to treat me a little roughly.”

Laszlo’s face lit up at that, and he was suddenly looming over John rather imposingly. “You imagined yourself with another man?”

“It was always you, obviously.” John muttered a bit embarrassedly, and Laszlo kissed him so hungrily in response it was downright ridiculous. When they broke apart again, John grinned, flushed all over. “Would you like to know what I would have you do?”

“Please,” Laszlo murmured, “Tell me what you want, John.”

“I would let you fuck me. You could have me in any manner that you wanted.” John said this honestly, and without a single stammer, and it was so intoxicating that Laszlo almost groaned just listening to him. After several minutes were spent kissing each other until their mouths were practically bruised from it, Laszlo pulled back, reaching a decision.

“Alright,” Laszlo mumbled, looking as drunk as he had that night in their Harvard years. “Alright I'll have you.”

John hummed appreciatively, and he leaned back on the bed in busied himself with removing his clothing while Laszlo combed the room for supplies. By the time he had uncovered some form of lubricant, John had just finished removing his own trousers. There was a moment where they stared at each other, Laszlo admiring John’s form and John admiring Laszlo’s blush.

“You'll have to help me,” Laszlo gestured to his shirt buttons with his good arm. “Or I'm afraid that you'll be in for a rather pitiful display.”

“There's nothing pitiful about it.” John said, not unkindly, before slowly getting to his feet and crossing the room. He stood very close to Laszlo while he began loosening his tie, unraveling his shirt collar, and then slowly making his way down. Laszlo watched him with glazed eyes, as if some kind of spell had been cast over him. John kissed his neck and collarbone once they were exposed, and he drew out the process of unbuttoning the shirt for as long as he could, kissing all around Laszlo’s chest and shoulders as he did.

When Laszlo was left wearing nothing but his trousers, he stiffened a little, as if he were self conscious. Perhaps he was, John thought, as he traced the scar along Laszlo’s lame arm with his thumb. Sara had told him about the circumstances of it’s malfunction. John wanted to punch Laszlo’s father in the nose, seeing the evidence of his work.

“You could have told me.” John murmured, and Laszlo looked to his feet. “I would not have thought of you any differently.”

“You would have,” Laszlo shook his head, “You may not realize it, but you would have.”

“Hmm,” John kissed the temple of Laszlo’s forehead again, pleased at the way the other man relaxed under this small touch. “I disagree.”

“Of course you do.” Laszlo huffed, and suddenly they were on track again, with him nipping at John’s neck, leading him back to the bed. “I’m afraid you'll have to prepare yourself, John. As you said, I am less experienced.”

“We’ll soon remedy that,” John tutted, reaching for the lubricant. When he turned back to glance at Laszlo’s face, he was a little perturbed to see just how surprised he looked. “What? Did you expect this to be a singular experience as well?”

“No,” Laszlo blinked, flustered. “But, to hear you confirm it… Well, I'm entitled to at least a moment of shock.”

“You really are a virgin, aren't you?” John drawled affectionately, leaning in and stealing another kiss. Laszlo continued to look at him in such a stunned, embarrassed manner that John couldn't help the small laugh that escaped him.

“What's so funny?”

“It’s just that, all these years, you've been taunting me for giving into my frivolous desires.” John chuckled once again, “But you've been so utterly repressed. There’s something adorably feminine about it.”

As he took in John’s words, Laszlo began what could only be described as a pout, which was a rare sight indeed.

“I should hardly think that I'm feminine just because I know how to control my own appetites.” Laszlo muttered under his breath, but even so, John could not resent him for the remark, because he was too damned pleased with what was happening.

“Forgive me if I insulted your pride, I just happen to admire every quality that you possess that serves to make you seem a little less far away.” John sighed, and when he reached out to kiss Laszlo, he was not brushed aside, but welcomed warmly.

“I don't mean to isolate you,” Laszlo spoke quietly between kisses. “Really, I don’t.”

“I know,” John murmured, kissing the corner of his jaw. “I know.”

It seemed that things had taken a remarkable turn for the tender, and John didn't find it disagreeable in the slightest. If anything, it was refreshing, as most of his social engagements with Laszlo ended in argument, and so few opportunities presented themselves when they could each be unabashedly affectionate with one and other. John thought of that day in Michigan, when Laszlo had sprained his ankle after their carriage crashed, and they had limped back to the train station together in the dizzying afternoon sun. It was the last time he could think of seeing Laszlo genuinely happy, in spite of their harrowing circumstances.

“You said that you loved me,” Laszlo said now, quite suddenly. They had made their way onto the bed, and he was nearly sitting in John’s lap. His eyes were wide and earnest. “Did you really mean that?”

“Of course I meant it.” John promised, “You don't have to tell me the same, if that's what you're worried about. I know these things don't come easily to you.”

“No, they don't.” Laszlo whispered, lightly caressing John’s cheek. “But I think it's safe to say that I care a great deal for you. It would be unbearable if you were ever to leave me.”

“Well, luckily for you, I have no intention of going anywhere.” John leaned into Laszlo’s touch, smiling kindly up at him.

“You’re getting married,” Laszlo reminded him, “You’ll have children. You'll move on.”

“I sincerely doubt it, if Sara has her way. I think she's quite happy to leave us to her own devices while she’s busy at work.”

“Evidently so,” Laszlo tutted, “I wonder which of us seems the most feminine now?”

“Why you—” John started, but Laszlo cut him off with another bruising kiss, and once again the mood in the room had changed. John hurriedly fumbled with the buttons on Laszlo’s trousers while Laszlo busied himself marking John’s neck with his teeth, their shared arousal growing more and more unbearable by the second. Somehow, John managed to get ahold of the bottle of lubricant, coating his fingers with a generous amount. He had done this often, though it was normally at the request of a woman, not his own pleasure. It took him some time before he could find and angle in which he was the most comfortable, lying across Laszlo’s sheets and stretching himself open. His whole body felt dangerously hot; he was already shivering just at the idea of getting himself ready for Laszlo to enter him. John had never before felt quite so exhilarated in bed, knowing he was expressly readying himself for someone else's pleasure. It was oddly exciting, being on the receiving end of things.

Laszlo watched him work himself in a state of absolute rapture, his mouth practically watering as John slid a second finger in. His hand ghosted over John’s abdomen, never quite reaching low enough, and John had to arch his back, moaning, longing to be touched.

“Here, trade places with me.” John suggested, slowly pulling out of himself. Laszlo looked momentarily confused, but nodded in a daze, lying flat on his back. John then pulled his trousers down so that they were nearly around his ankles, taking in the sight of his friend’s twitching, hardened cock with an appraising sting of peril. He handed Laszlo the lubricant with a heavy swallow. “Apply that generously.”

Nodding, Laszlo coated his own fingers with the cold, slick liquid, and he reached for his cock almost hesitantly. Once he touched himself, however, it was impossible for him not to give into the urge and give himself a few quick pumps. John watched the display ravenously, enjoying the methodical little grunts Laszlo made as he handled himself.

“Alright,” John rasped, “Sit up a bit more.”

Laszlo nodded and did as told, and John straddled him, thinking of things as if he were a woman. He reached for his ass again and fingered himself just a little more, to make certain that he was ready. Then, as Laszlo watched him with wide, admiring eyes, John angled their bodies so they lined up, and slowly, carefully lowered himself onto Laszlo’s cock.

It was different than anything John had ever felt, and though he expected the pain, it was a rather unusual kind of ache, like an itch that needed a scratch. He shuddered, taking as much of Laszlo into himself as he so dared. He listened to the throaty gasps coming from his friend to distract himself from the unfamiliarity of it all.

“It’s very—” Laszlo looked up at John incredulously, clearly feeling just as overwhelmed as he did. “It's very tight.”

“Yes,” John wheezed, and that was the only response he could seem to manage.

They sat like that for a few moments, catching their breath. And then, with a small whine, Laszlo’s jerked his hips.

The discomfort did not immediately cease, but the movement had given John an immense sense of relief, and it was all he had in him to grunt approvingly, silently begging Laszlo for more.

Understanding, Laszlo inhaled deeply, his entire body trembling, and with a much stronger sense of certainty, he began thrusting his hips. John rocked with him, the rhythm going from chaotic to steady, and it was so much that he let out a rather unbecoming noise, a groan so loud it might have passed for a shout. Laszlo laughed at him, albeit shakily, but he was soon filling the room with moans of his own.

Whether it lasted hours or minutes, John could not have been certain. It felt like eternity in the very best of ways. At one point, Laszlo hit a spot so deep within John that he gave a startled gasp, finally finding some genuine relief for that deep, internal itch. He urged Laszlo to continue aiming in that direction, and Laszlo did as he asked, his pace jarring and stuttering as he grew closer and closer to his own undoing.

It was Laszlo who came first, freezing inside of John and suddenly thrusting into him with unprecedented strength. John nearly lost it himself just from watching the way Laszlo bit his bottom lip, trying to repress his scream. Somehow, he held on, waiting and burning with the urge to finish himself off. Drunk with pleasure, Laszlo languidly reached for John’s cock with his good arm and stroked it from its base to its head, taking only a few good pulls before John finally gave in, spilling himself all over Laszlo’s hand and stomach. It was only then that Laszlo pulled out of him, allowing John to collapse onto the sheets beside him with a satisfied moan.

They lay in the afterglow for four or five minutes, exchanging fond grins and gentle touches. Eventually, Laszlo managed to get to his feet, retrieving a towel from his washbasin, and then wordlessly offering to clean John up. Watching him, John’s chest tingled with a strong sense of of affection. It was rare to see Laszlo so humble. It was rare to see him in any way that John had that day. When Laszlo finished wiping himself off, John found the strength to sit up, adjusting himself so that he was propped up on one elbow, patting the bed in the spot where he expected Laszlo to lay next to him.

With a timid smile, Laszlo got back in bed and curled up beside him, just as John wanted him, laying with one arm tucked cautiously around John’s waist.

“I dare say that _that_ was far more entertaining than the Opera.” John intoned with a smirk, and Laszlo laughed, he really, honestly laughed.

 

\--

 

John and Sara were married the following spring. It was a rather large ceremony, and John had very little say in it, simply sitting back to allow his grandmother go on about floral arrangements and exactly which social circles to invite. Sara wore a beautiful dress, modern and light with a detailed floral trim in the lace. Her uncle was the one gave her away, and John could barely take his eyes off of her as she walked down the aisle with her head held high.

Laszlo was his best man, of course. He gave an entertaining toast after the ceremony, much of the humor being at John’s expense, though they both knew that none of it was personal. Throughout the entirety of the festivities, the two of them exchanged loaded glanced, and Sara very often joined in. It was as though they were all sharing a very elaborate private joke, the engagement ring on Sara’s finger serving as a glittering reminder of the truth.

Their honeymoon was only a short five days spent in New Orleans, Sara being eager to return to work straight away. While they were there, they ventured into parts of the city where there with bountiful amounts of women, many of whom shared Sara’s very specific tastes. There was a particularly notable woman named Constance who worked as a barmaid just across the street from their hotel, and John did not miss the way Sara’s smile changed for the better each time that she saw her. He encouraged her to attain her mailing address, and when she came back successful, John was delighted to see Sara smiling at the small paper containing the information during the entirety of their voyage home.

He met Laszlo at the Opera a few days after their return, and seeing him again felt like taking a breath of fresh air.

“How was your vacation?” Laszlo asked, smiling at John as the curtain began to draw back, revealing the stage.

“It was certainly very interesting,” John replied, enjoying the suspicious glance Laszlo then cast over him. “I've never talked to so many beautiful women without having the slightest interest in any of them.”

There was a flash in Laszlo’s eyes, giving him away. “I suppose a happy marriage will do that to a man.”

He had crossed his arms in his seat, and was slowly nudging his fingers towards John’s elbow. It was as much contact they could manage without being too conspicuous. John crossed his own arms, allowing his fingers to brush with Laszlo’s ever so slightly, fueled with a promise of things to come.

“Yes,” John whispered, “I suppose that it does.”

**Author's Note:**

> this was so much fun to write because everyone in this show is such an incorrigible snob. also, John and Laszlo are both such obvious bottoms that it was a downright struggle to execute the steamier scenes in this fic. anyways, thanks for reading!!


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